Crazy Little Thing
by JleeBean
Summary: [So she lies and she dreams.] 10 out of 52 oneshots featuring Kyou and Kagura. INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. Five shades of white

**A/N:** There really isn't that many Kyou/Kagura fics out there, so I decided to do something about it. The following are a few drabbles that connect with the LiveJournal community, 52Flavors, themes. They'll be done in order. Hopefully.

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By Jleebean

**1. Five shades of white.**

The first time Kyou had given her a White Day present, Kagura had only been seven years old. They were playing out in the yard when Kagura gave a violent sneeze. Kyou handed her his handkerchief without a second thought, and Kagura had immediately squealed at the implications of his innocent gesture.

Kyou didn't have the heart to tell her the handkerchief was off-white.

The second time Kyou had given her a White Day present, Kagura had just finished executing a roundhouse kick to his side. Kyou had enough sense left in him to dodge, leaving Kagura with nothing to stop her momentum and she fell on her side, scraping her left arm across the dojo floor. She used so much force that the she actually managed to cut herself against the wood; there was a nasty gash running down her arm and she had bitten her lip in a desperate attempt to keep from crying. Ridden with guilt, Kyou tore a strip of his practice uniform to wrap it around her arm like a mock bandage. She'd brightened up immediately and thanked him from the bottom of her heart.

Kyou didn't have the heart to tell her the uniform was eggshell.

The third time Kyou had given her a White Day present, Kagura had popped up for one of her surprise visits. Kyou had been in his room, pouring over a particularly tough math assignment, when she came barreling through his door. She'd managed to wrap herself around him before he even had time to turn around. Desperately, he'd grabbed the first thing he could get ahold of and threw it at her in an attempt to break free. The crumpled paper hit her square on her head and she'd stepped back, holding the paper in her hands like it was a bar of gold. She crushed three of his ribs in her hug of gratitude.

Kyou didn't have the heart to tell her the paper was cream.

The fourth time Kyou had given her a White Day present, Kagura had insisted on doing his laundry for him. He refused, of course, but he also had a major exam to study for the next day. Reluctantly, he handed over his laundry basket and had turned to go back into his room when he heard her scream. He whipped around to find her clutching one of his socks to her chest, tears of happiness welling in her eyes.

Kyou didn't have the heart to tell her the sock was beige.

The fifth time Kyou had given her a White Day present, Kagura was no where to be found. He tried her school, her apartment, even the Main House, but to no avail. It was two whole hours before he ever found her, in the last place he ever expected, on the edge of his roof. He joined her shortly afterward and they sat there in silence, watching the setting sun. After a moment, Kyou abruptly handed her a tiny flower, slightly crushed from his handling. It was a cherry blossom, freshly bloomed and as white as snow. He told her it was the whitest thing he could find, and that he hoped it was enough.

Kagura didn't have the heart to tell him the petals were slightly pink.


	2. The cruelest month

**A/N:** Alright, theme #2 under my belt! Go me! XD Honestly, though, I'm really touched by all the reviewers' kind and encouraging words. This next theme is more Kyou-centric and only _hints_ at Kyou/Kagura, but I was in a depressing mood and you can't really expect a fluffy drabble with the world 'cruel' in the theme. (And if my hints are as vague as I think they are, this drabble is focusing on the day Kyou turns 18, meaning the day he'll be locked up. FOREVAH!) Still, I hope it pleases!

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**2. The cruelest month.**

It was the longest month Kyou had ever had to endure. Seventeen years and 135 days of knowledge and dread dwindled away into reluctant resignation as he watches the thin second hand work its way around the face of the clock, bringing him that much closer to the rest of his life.

_Tick_, _tick_, _tick_ goes the clock, like mocking laughter and the hand that holds it tightens until the cheap plastic covering cracks.

Kyou tries not to think about the coming dawn and the procedures it will inevitably bring with it. He tries not to think about the way Tohru's face will go all blotchy when she'll cry, because undoubtedly she will. He tries not to remember the last thing he ever said to Shigure, or the look on the Rat's face when he'll be taken away. With enough concentration, he doesn't think about the way that room is just so _damn small_ or the way the bars in its one window looks so cold.

Instead he tries to remember the last time he ever truly laughed and the way there'd always be a milk carton waiting for him every morning. He closes his eyes and tries to see the way Tohru's face always lit up when he actually did something _good_ for once in his awful life, and if he focuses hard enough he can still remember the way Kagura would wrap her arms around him and tighten it just so whenever he dared to pull away.

He feels awful now, because he never got to tell her how much he actually liked the attention, and isn't it just like him to only realize it now, now that it'll be lost to him forever? He has no doubt that she'll be there that morning, when Kureno and Hatori arrive to take him away. He thinks she'll cry for him, but quietly because, oddly enough, Kagura always manages to keep _that_ part of her emotions in check. He thinks maybe he'll cry too, or at least put up a struggle, because he'll be damned if Akito thinks he'll go willingly. A part of him realizes he has to be strong, at least for the women, but another part wants to scream, "Screw that!" because this was his _life_, dammit, and he refuses to just hand it over like that.

Crimson eyes widen just slightly as the second hand reaches the top and _tick_, just like that, his life evaporates and he is now a man. He doesn't feel all that different, actually, only extremely tired. He wants to scream and curse but can't muster up enough energy to do it so instead he lowers his hand and places the clock back on the table. He turns his light off and sits there for a moment, trying to memorize his room as best as he can. He makes a promise to himself that he'll finally tell Kazuma-sensei he loves him and thank Tohru for all her hope. He promises not to squirm away when Kagura hugs him this one last time.

_Tick_, _tick_, _tick_ goes the clock as he settles back into bed. He closes his eyes and thinks, _hopes_, that maybe it won't be so bad.

_Tick_.

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Next: Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead.


	3. Four rings of light

**A/N:** Not my best, but it's something. Thanks again to those who reviewed.

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**3. Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead.**

Kyou had never tried sake before. He never thought it was that big a deal until he told Shigure, who'd just offered him some in his own drunken haze, and the damn Inu actually _laughed_ at him. He hiccoughed a little and proceeded to slur that even _Yuki_ had tried some before—which was all that was needed to push the Neko off the edge and he grabbed the bottle, actually tore it from the Inu's hands, only to chug its contents away like it was another carton of milk. Shigure was staring at him in silent awe as Kyou hastily threw the bottle aside, feeling mighty proud of himself.

That is, until the liquor's true power began to seize his insides and he gagged, suddenly feeling light in the head. After that he fell backwards or sideways or _something_; all he knew was he was suddenly on the floor, looking up at ceiling where twin lamplights suddenly became a quadruplet and he giggled—_giggled!_—because it had seemed so damned funny at the time.

Shigure was by his side in an instant. He didn't seem so drunk anymore, and Kyou felt he should have been mad about that but couldn't quite put his finger on _why_, when suddenly there was a hand there, slapping Kyou in the face. Kyou tried to knock it away but only managed to lightly tap the appendage and he giggled again because _that_ must have looked funny, indeed.

Of course, that was when Tohru and Yuki decided to come home from grocery shopping and Kyou felt he should have been embarrassed or flustered or something but all he could do was giggle incessantly at the four lights that were now spinning in circles overhead. Tohru made a grand fuss and reprimanded Shigure for his carelessness—but only lightly of course, because this _is_ Tohru after all.

Somewhere down the line, Kagura had popped up, because Kagura always manages to pop up at the worst of times, and, expectedly, she raised hell over his state—at least that's what it sounded like, because Kyou was _still_ watching those lights, which now seemed to be doing a funny little dance. But sooner or later, Kyou was forced to tear his attention away, especially when something landed heavily on his chest. He'd shot up and—after taking a moment to let the swirling colors adjust into intelligible objects—gave the something a bit of talking to.

As it turns out, the something was Kagura, who didn't really _fall_ as much as _throw_ herself on him. She exclaimed her apology and scrambled to give him a hug, and in the back of his mind, Kyou felt that he should be pushing her away but he wondered _why_ because she felt so soft and warm. Instead he returned the hug, or returned as much of it as he could muster, and people actually _gasped_.

The sake had just about done him in and his hold slackened and he fell back, gazing once again at those dancing lights. He was close to blacking out then and all he could do was wonder why the only person who didn't seem so surprised was Kagura.

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Next: Everything you ever wished for.


	4. Everything you ever wished for

**A/N:** I finally got around to fixing up my profile, so if anyone's really bored, there's that. As for this next drabble, it's one I'm particularly fond of, likely for my fondness of a little Kyou. A lot of people seem to really overlook this aspect of Kyou and Kagura's relationship, which is a tragedy, as it's probably the strongest support for the 'ship! Kagura's last line kind of refers to the manga, and is only _slightly_ spoilerific in dealing with the two's relationship. It's just a vague little hint that if you haven't actually read up to that part in the manga, then it won't really mean a thing. 

But, behold: dialogue! _Finally_, right?

I'd also like to thank my wonderful reviewers, but most especially **Promise Keeper** and **Lucinda the Maid**. They've been reviewing _CLT_ since it was first published, and I can't thank them enough for being so loyal. I'm trying to keep my updates as frequent as possible, while keeping true to the two characters; I hope I've been doing a good job so far. (sheepish smile)

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**4. Everything you ever wished for.**

They were talking about him again.

Kyou tried to act as if he didn't hear what they were whispering about behind their hands, and for a child, he was doing particularly well. He didn't look up when they passed by him with looks of disdain and disgust written clear over their faces, and he didn't bristle when a few of them would 'accidentally' kick sand his way.

Instead he was focused vigorously on his task, sheer concentration the only emotion he allowed to break through his countenance. With a mangled stick he'd found lying around, he drew images only children could make sense of across the patch of sand in the yard behind the Main House. A good ten feet in front of him were the other kids, the Accepted Ones, playing with their basketballs and jump ropes and laughing like they were having the time of their lives.

Well fine. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.

Really.

He was fine playing by himself. It was better that way. He'd never have to fight about rules or what games to play or whose ball to use or anything like that because all he'd have to worry about was himself and that was great because he knew what he liked. And he liked playing alone. It was everything he could have ever wished for.

Really.

_Really_.

"Hi."

Kyou blinked, surprised. There was a girl standing in front of him. She couldn't have been a year or two older than him and he recognized her as one of the Accepted Ones. But it wasn't the fact that she was here, _talking_ to him that surprised Kyou—it was the fact that she was _smiling_. Actually smiling at him.

At _him_.

Kyou resisted the urge to look behind him because he was too afraid to find somebody there. "Are you talking to me?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

The girl laughed a little girl's laugh and nodded. "Of course—who else would I talk to?"

Kyou furrowed his orange brows. "Don't you know who I am?"

The girl tilted her head a bit. Kyou thought she looked a little sad for a moment. "Of course I do. Do you know who I am?"

Kyou frowned. "No…"

"My name's Kagura!" she giggled, stepping closer.

Kyou immediately recoiled. "But—I'm the Cat…"

"I know," said Kagura, and Kyou thought she looked sad again before she suddenly smiled brightly. "And I'm the Boar!"

Kyou couldn't help it. "Why are you here? You're not supposed to be nice to me… No one ever is…"

Kagura's smile dwindled a bit, but it _stayed there_, surprising Kyou even more. "That's okay, I still want to be your friend."

"But—_why_?"

Kyou found it weird that Kagura could still keep smiling when her eyes looked so terribly sad. "We're a lot a like, y'know?" She shrugged a bit and held out her hand. Kyou stared at it. "Don't you want a friend?"

_Yes_. "I… don't know…"

Kagura's hand remained in the air. "It's okay to want friends, y'know. No one deserves to be lonely. Not you," she whispered, "Not me…"

Kyou looked up at her then. Her smile was gone and she looked so much younger than he felt.

He took her hand. It was shaking. "I'm Kyou." He tried to give her a smile and was surprised to find it wasn't as hard as he thought it'd be.

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Next: The effect of impact on stationary objects.


	5. The effect of impact

**A/N:** (falls) This next drabble is incredibly silly (when compared to all the others, at least). I couldn't help myself though; it was the first thing that popped into my mind when I read the theme so I took it and ran. Forgive me! The next one will be better! (dies)

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**5. The effect of impact on stationary objects.**

"I hope you two realize the gravity of the situation here," Shigure said sternly. His dark eyes seemed, if possible, to grow even darker as he surveyed the two teenagers sitting in front of him with dismay.

The Neko shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "It was just an accident—"

"Accident or not, this will not be tolerated!" Shigure cried, a balled fist coming down hard on the table that separated them.

Beside Kyou, Kagura sniffed loudly. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice trembling with oncoming tears.

Shigure felt his anger dwindle a bit; seeing the Ino so upset was enough to break even the strongest resolve, but Shigure struggled to hold on to what was most important. "That's not enough," he replied firmly. "I've warned you two—_asked_ you—but what do you do? You go on and ignore me anyway!"

"It's not like it's the first time—" Kyou offered hastily, and Shigure let out a strangled cry.

"Exactly! How many more will you damage, Kyou? _How many more!_"

By that time, Kagura had burst into tears and Kyou, in a flurry of frustration and exasperation, cried,

"For god's sake, Shigure, it's just a damned door!"

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Next: And yes, the way you look at me.


	6. The way you look at me

**A/N:** This next one I'm not completely satisfied with, but as I can't squeeze anything else out, it'll have to do. Maybe someday I'll come back and redo it, but for now bear with me plzkthx.School's started about two weeks ago and I'm already swamped with all this work so I apologize if updates aren't as frequent as before. On another note, I seem to be stuck with theme #8, which is odd as it's unbelievably easy to pin to Kyou/Kagura. -.-;

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**6. And yes, the way you look at me.**

There was something about Kagura that unnerved Kyou, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was like the name of that song that's been in your head for hours; that it was _just there_, at the tip of your tongue. He was sure it wasn't her bi-polar tendencies, or her slightly aggressive personality, for he had long since been used to that. Nor was it her equally frustrating habit of making him feel about _yea high_ whenever she'd let just the tiniest of tears slip, because he truly was just a sucker for a woman in distress.

No, if he had to guess, he'd venture it had something to do with her eyes. While her eyes were the cloudiest shade of gray he'd ever encountered, it wasn't the color that got to him (because it wasn't like he was a stranger to odd-colored pupils, _ahem ahem_). Maybe it was the way they'd sparkle just so whenever she heard his name mentioned, or the way they'd show just the right amount of emotion when the rest of her was having trouble expressing. Or maybe it was the way her eyes would just light up upon seeing him, or how they'd mist over whenever he tried to squirm away from her grasp.

It was frustrating, and it was exhausting, but Kyou could never quite figure out just _what_ made Kagura's stare so unnerving.

He thought that maybe he never would, and that it really just might be his own paranoia creeping in—until the day Shigure brought home a full-length mirror, as wide and tall as an entire wall of the sitting room.

"It was the only size available," Shigure insisted, but Kyou had a sinking feeling it had less to do with availability, and more to do with the Inu's own sick, perverted mind.

Most of the family had visited that day to 'see the new surprise', Kagura among them. She'd singled him out and tried to coerce him into talking to her like she always did, only this time Kyou had the advantage (disadvantage?) of seeing themselves reflected in the mirror the entire time. She hardly noticed the object, but Kyou kept his eyes locked on it, the heavy anvil of realization coming down on him.

It was there, as clear as glass, and Kyou was right—it _did_ have to do with her eyes.

She looked at him like no one else in the world, but he looked at her like she was _just Kagura_, and now he realized he'd probably never be able to look her in the eyes again.

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Next: Snow falling on corpses.


	7. Snow falling on corpses

**A/N:** Ahh, metaphors, how I hate thee. This next drabble's my pathetic attempt at writing metaphor (well, in _this_ particular case, anyway). If I'm as horrible as I think I am, then I think it's best to say that the flower actually serves as a metaphor for _two separate but closely connected_ things. Er. Yeah. 

If anyone's interested, I got over the block I had for theme #8. Well. Kind of.

P.S. I realize the short chapters are a bit annoying, but there _are_ going to be fifty-two of these guys _so_... Plus, I find I work a lot better in these conditions, which means more updates so yay. :D

P.P.S. A big thanks to everybody who reviewed. Honestly, I luff you guys. You're all quite possibly the only reason I keep trying. X3

Here's hoping I don't disappoint. (sweatdrop)

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**7. Snow falling on corpses.**

There's a flower Kagura keeps outside her apartment window. It was the type of flower that most people would stop to admire for one moment, then move on with whatever it was they were doing the next. It was bright red and open like the first flower on earth, but other than that, it was nothing special. It was a flower one could find in the side of the road or growing along an old, abandoned house. It was common, it was plain, and it was terribly superficial.

But Kagura liked to think there was more to this flower than a passing glance would give. She liked to believe that beneath the velvety petals and flashy color, there was a depth, a _something_ that made the flower more than just a flower. She dared to hope that underneath the underneath, it was unique, it was sincere, it was _real_.

She came across it one December morning as she was walking home and she saw it, nearly smothered from the blankets of snow. She took it home with the sole intention of nurturing it because she couldn't, _wouldn't_, allow it to die. She tried, worked so hard to be gentle until her eyes cried and her heart ached, but the little flower wouldn't last for more than the trip home. The flower had been far too fragile, and her hands, still as she forced them to be, were a delicate mess of unbidden care made tremulous by selfishness and guilt.

She had crushed it before she even reached the door.

And she cried with such fury and pain that her eyes were swollen and her heart broke a second time. _Why?_ she'd screamed, _Why?_ The flower hadn't answered her and she cried again because she realized she probably didn't want to know.

When she was finished and her eyes had no more tears left to shed, she placed the flower atop her windowsill. She watched as the snow slowly fell over it like powdered sugar on pancakes, and stood there until it was completely covered, buried in the snow's purity and indifference.

She never bothered to put the flower away and when asked about it, she'd only smile a tearful smile and say,

"I wasn't enough."

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Next: The blind leading the blind.


	8. The blind leading the blind

**A/N:** I'm _pretty_ sure (kinda sorta maybe not really) that I didn't just screw this entire theme to the ground. I mentioned before that I had more trouble with this theme than I did any of the others—which really plagues me more than it should, but what can I do? If I wasn't to factor in the theme, then I'd be fairly happy with the outcome of this drabble, but since life just doesn't _work that way_, my overall feeling toward this piece is "Meh". I neither love it nor hate it, but that's probably (_hopefully_) my own bitter perfectionism tuning in. 

_Anyhoo_, I'm experimenting with point-of-views here, so bear with me. (Though I probably shouldn't be experimenting with a theme I'm stuck at, huh? Hmm.)

Also, this doesn't really pertain to anything, but I feel the need to make it known that I don't usually upload a drabble unless I've got the next one already written. So that sort of explains the gap in updates.

That, and the fact that school's being a _major_ pain—and not just the 'crapload of homework' kind of pain, but the 'eleven-hour school days' kind of pain.

I am _so_ not joking.

P.S. I think it's really sad when the author's note ends up being _half_ the length of the fic posted, don't you?

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**8. The blind leading the blind.**

They tell you you're too young to know what love is. You tell them they're wrong. You tell them they can't possibly understand and you're right, because they haven't been through what you've been through. They haven't seen what you've seen and felt what you've felt so how could _they_ know whether you feel something or not?

And what does age have to do with anything anyway? It's full of crap because you know a few adults who act more like kids when they're together than kids do, and you know more than a handful of kids who've been through so much pain that most adults could hardly even _begin_ to understand.

And even if age _did_ matter, what age is 'too young'? Legally, you're old enough to drink and own a house, but emotionally, you can't possibly be capable enough to be in love?

They shake their heads at you and you scoff at them because you _know_. You know that love is more than butterflies in the stomach. You know love is more than a flushed face and shaky hands. You try to tell them but they turn away from you because apparently you're also too young to make sense.

They're walking away already but you raise your voice and you _make_ them hear you.

You tell them love is pain. You tell them love is sacrifice. You tell them love is about mistakes and forgiveness and hope.

You tell them love is patience. That love is waiting and waiting for the day he'll ask for your hand again and _mean it_, because you know that one day, _someday_, he will…

They laugh and tell you you're too young to know what love is.

…You start to think that maybe they're right.

But you're learning.

You think maybe one day, you'll teach him.

You hope maybe one day, he'll love you back.

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Next: Four twelves are forty-eight.


	9. Four twelves are fortyeight

**A/N:** Oooh. Bad Jonah, bad. Hadn't I just mentioned in the previous drabble that I was fairly good at this updating thing? Tsk tsk. I probably jinxed myself.

Anyway, I apologize to all my readers (eep! I hope I still have some!) for taking so gosh-darn long with this one. I'm going to go ahead and blame school, even though I know that excuse has been used _way_ too many times, but it's the truth in my case. I really have been way too busy with schoolwork, especially when it comes to a certain Calculus class... mutters miserably

Ah well. I guess I shouldn't take anymore of your time, should I? Yes. Best get on with the show.

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**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**9. Four twelves are forty-eight.**

It's been forty-eight hours since Kyou last saw her.

She'd been crying then. Crying like it was all she could do, bleeding tears into his shirt like an open wound.

He told her he'd never love her, at least not in the way she loved him, and she'd cried, because tears always came so easily to Kagura, and because tears were the only way she could say she was sorry.

He knew she was sorry, he could feel it in the way she shivered against his arms as he gathered enough courage to hold her as she cried because he figured, well, he owed her that at least. But she was sorry for something he couldn't understand, and probably would never be able to understand, because he'd just shut her away forever, hadn't he?

It was all for the best, he told himself, because letting her go on any longer would only be like murder. He didn't want to kill her, didn't want her to die of a broken heart any more than he wanted the same fate for himself.

So he _had_ to hurt her. He _had_ to tell her the words she needed to hear and the words he needed to say to spare them both. This pain was miniscule, he tried to convince himself, compared to the kind of pain she'd feel if he'd let her continue to fool herself.

But there was so much more he wanted to tell her, so many more words he needed to say. He wanted to say it wasn't her fault, that it had never been so she shouldn't blame herself like he knew she would. He wanted to say it was his own undoing, that he was so fucked up she couldn't have been able to help him no matter how hard she tried. He wanted to tell her she shouldn't even waste her love on someone like him, someone who was only just beginning to grasp the concept of it because she needed someone who could love her as much as she dared to love him and as much as she deserved it, as much as he wished he could, he just couldn't give her that.

But she was gone before he could even force the words out, and all he could do was stand there. He thinks about it now, two days, four nights, forty-eight hours later, and realizes it probably wouldn't have mattered if he said them anyway…

He was already too many years too late.

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Next: One true thing.


	10. One true thing

**A/N:** I don't really like this. I might end up doing another one, if only to make up for making you all read through this crap. :P

(Blame the impending Exam Week From Hell.)

(…and that 52flavours is doing a cut.)

* * *

**Crazy Little Thing**  
By JleeBean

**10. One true thing.**

Kagura likes to indulge in dreams.

Her mother always worries about her, because she's 20 years old for goodness' sakes, way into her adulthood, and she's _still_ investing in silly little fantasies. Kagura always just smiles when her mother would relay these sentiments, smile and tell her not to worry because Kagura knows they're not real.

She thinks she knows this better than anyone.

But that doesn't keep her from dreaming, doesn't keep her mind—no, her _heart_—from forming these illusions. And it doesn't keep her from wishing it were any more real.

She knows it's sad and pathetic and just a little insane, but it makes her happy and that's the point, isn't it?

But then she starts to think maybe she isn't supposed to be happy. That's why they're just dreams, right?

…That's why they aren't real.

When she really thinks about it (and she tries hard not to), it makes her sad. Because the truth is they _aren't_ real, not even the happiness the dreams invoke, which kind of defeats the purpose of the dreams in the first place.

But she doesn't do this much. She lies to herself, constantly, because she's been lying to herself for a long while now so she figures lying to herself for just a little bit more couldn't hurt.

So she lies and she dreams. Dreams of his smile, of his laughter, of the feel of his hand holding hers and she thinks, she _hopes_, that maybe he dreams of this too.

Only she knows it's not her smile that he sees, not her laughter that he hears. It's not her hand that he dreams of holding and it hurts, but she smiles through her tears and thinks, that's alright, as long as it makes him happy.

That's all she wants, really, to make him happy. And if that means she has to settle for fantasy instead of reality…

Well.

It's a good thing she's such a good liar.

* * *

Next: Your pretty blue eyes are just stained glass.


End file.
